


Send Now, Freak Out Later

by byesweetheart (ConstantComment)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, Dick Pics, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/byesweetheart
Summary: Prompt:SextingHis fingers always fumble a little, body restless and heart skipping when he hits send, but he'd never let anyone see it. This is private, this is his secret, and he likes it that way. He likes it so much that he almost likes how nervous he gets initiating contact.Thankfully — and this is why he gets nervous but never worriestoo much— he doesn't have to wait long for a reply.





	Send Now, Freak Out Later

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW November: Day 10: Trying my hand at Iwaizumi and Kageyama, sexting buddies to long-distance boyfs. They’ve tried very hard to convince themselves they’re just friends with benefits, but it is very clear they have HUGE heart boners for each other. Well, they have regular boners for each other, too.

'Got something for me?' he types out. His fingers always fumble a little, body restless and heart skipping when he hits send, but he'd never let anyone see it. This is private, this is his secret, and he likes it that way. He likes it so much that he almost likes how nervous he gets initiating contact.

Thankfully — and this is why he gets nervous but never worries _too much_ — he doesn't have to wait long for a reply.

There's just enough time for Hajime to shuck his shirt and throw himself on his dorm room bed, rearranging until he's comfortable. Legs splayed, he crosses his ankle over his knee, and then thinks better of it, planting his heels solidly in the mattress and scratching slowly at his stomach as he stares at his phone screen.

Sometimes he's not at home.

Sometimes he's at a bar with classmates or out shopping or something. He'll be surrounded by friends and conversation about classwork or sports, and then his eyes will wander to his phone, tucked partway under his jeans or halfway out of his jacket pocket, and he'll tap something out, send with a silenced beat of anticipation.

No matter where he is, like clockwork he'll get a reply.

Sometimes, he doesn't even have to ask. Sometimes, if he's prepared, he can go all evening with that buzz under his skin — back and forths with quiet, urgent messages... pictures that tease, pictures that, if anybody saw...

It makes Hajime go hot thinking about all those times, those secret seconds thrumming with heat, the only one knowing and the only one readjusting in his seat, or taking deep breaths of cold air walking through the streets, the only one shifting and turning inward on the subway as he stares down at his phone.

Tonight he's too hungry for all that. He itches. And no one would know that about him, everyone assumes he's just good old, stoic Iwaizumi. But somehow, when he doesn't have to talk, when no one's looking at him or relying on his solidity, Hajime allows himself to be... kind of a mess.

The reply pops in after only a couple moments.

_Caught me early._

Hajime swallows, jiggles his knees.

_This okay?_

Okay? Okay is not the word for it.

The picture is a little crooked, the lighting poor, but thank god for smartphones, because the glory of it is clear as crystal. Tonight, it's a volleyball kit: fresh from a grueling practice, damp and clinging to a long, muscled torso, the heather gray t-shirt is dark in a long V from the neck, which would probably end somewhere around the ribs if it weren't bunched up. Under the t-shirt is a gorgeous set of abs, _slick_ at the cut of the obliques where the muscle points beneath the pair of practice shorts. Short is definitely the word for those, hitting at the thickest part of the thighs and leaving very little to the imagination where the seam hits between the legs.

The legs, god.

The legs are perfect, would be just fine and thick and strong if they were bare, but they're partially hidden under thigh-high kneepads, tight and cutting lightly into the skin so there's only an inch-long sliver of skin between them and the shorts. Somehow, the shoes and socks are gone, strewn behind like he walked right out of them. His bare toes are pale.

The phone is orange — predictable — but the strong fingers holding it always get him. The careless posture of them connected to wrist then to forearm, elbow, rounded muscles of the upper arm. Attached to it is that long neck, a tilted head with a sharp jawline. The jet black hair is messy, and sticking every which way from a hand combing through sweat — a vulnerable tuft of it is standing off his forehead, revealing his half-lidded eyes.

Kageyama Tobio is looking at him, at the shutter in the mirror, so fresh from practice he hadn't been able to shower before Hajime texted, is still breathing heavy from the flush of his face, the part of his lips.

See, it’s not even that crazy, nothing so over the top, but the thing is...

It’s just Tobio.

There’s something to his clumsy, earnest messages — sharing something a little revealing or suggestive that’s pushing as far as he can go in the moment — that gets Hajime riled up.

Tonight it’s like Hajime's there with him, because he knows exactly that smell, exactly that feeling, the satisfaction, the exhaustion, and the endorphins of a hard practice. He can practically feel the rise and fall of Tobio’s chest, like if he reached through the picture he'd get to trace his fingers up under that shirt and touch his fevered skin.

He nearly drops his phone, but manages to type out a quick, 'Definitely, absolutely okay,' and sends it between one breath and the next. 'Damn, Tobio,' he adds before he has time to think about it.

His hand is down his boxers before Tobio replies, but that's okay. No one's around, so he's allowed.

And Tobio likes it. 

They haven't really... talked about so much as fallen into this, but it started when Tobio went to college and started texting him when he couldn't get Tooru to give him advice (Tooru is a huge flake in general, but most especially with phones — it's his thing). Advice had turned into regular chat and photo exchange, which somehow, one night when Hajime was drunk and feeling a little lonely, had turned into something else.

He'd been swimming in a heated pool at a local (wealthy) classmate's country house (mansion) in mid-December, and had taken a photo of his body steaming with heat, backlit with the bright aqua water and glowing in the warm outdoor lights. He had, of course, been topless, and he had, of course, been staring up at the camera with some sort of face that he doesn’t like thinking about in sober retrospect. And he had, of course, sent it to Tobio without explanation.

Considering the last photo he'd sent to Tobio was of a funny looking cat, his response was a huge relief, and a huge eye-opener.

A picture of Tobio, obviously half-way through getting ready for bed, shirtless and in a pair of red boxers, his abs cut into perfect shadows in the low, yellow light of his room. He held his arm over his shoulder, cupping the back of his neck, which was — if you squinted — possibly a bit red, as he schooled his expression, biting his lip, and took the photo in the mirror.

_Swimming?_

'Wish you were here,' Hajime replied to the lone text below that photo, immediately saved to his camera roll. He added a smiley face, just because he'd already dug this hole.

_You're so good-looking, Iwaizumi,_ the following text read.

Hajime had been so bowled over by the quick response that his drunk ass hadn't even thought one brain cell about it before replying, 'Can you call me Hajime?'

But nothing had prepared him for Kageyama Tobio saying, _Wish I was there too._

Then, a beat.

_Hajime._

Now, Tobio rides this fine line between confidence and shyness, which works incredibly well for Hajime, who in this one instance is more of a send now, freak out later guy. He wonders if he seems incredibly confident to Tobio, or if Tobio fumbles to reply as much as he does. Only occasionally does it really show how Tobio is feeling in the moment, and every second he reveals himself is like the second before a match point.

Laid back on his pillows in his tiny dorm bed, Hajime watches the three dots bounce at the bottom of the message window, until a video pops up. Before he even opens it, he's stroking his dick to fullness, feeling the heat deep in his belly, his breath coming short. He could look at their text history, at all the pictures he has saved in his phone of Tobio flexing his arms, Tobio sucking a tiny bit coyly on a yogurt popsicle, Tobio taking a picture of his ass in a new pair of jeans at the department store, Tobio's body spread out on a couch with the camera pointed toward his half-tented shorts, Tobio completely naked from the looks of it with his free hand clearly clutching at something out of view.

But he likes the newness of a video, likes that Tobio's making the first move in this way.

It's nothing over the top, but it's not a selfie. The camera is propped up somewhere, facing Tobio as he looks down, letting a breath out through his nose, and turns away to reveal his sweat-soaked back. He reaches behind him and clutches at the gray t-shirt, fist curling around the fabric before slowly tugging it off, over his head. His hair goes wild again, making Hajime think of what it would be like to mess it up with his own hands. He drops the shirt to the floor and stretches quickly — not too indulgently, since he probably chickens out a little while doing it — but then he's turning around and moving forward to shut the camera off.

'Hard practice?' Hajime asks, and only realizes what he's said once he's sent it.

Send now, freak out later.

He speeds up on his dick when Tobio replies, _So, so hard._

He doesn't even care if it's on purpose, because he's taking a picture of his hand down his shorts, possibly a little blurred, and then sending it with a, 'Yeah? Me too,' for good measure.

They never show anything beyond this, but Hajime wants Tobio to know even if they'll never get so far as to send things beyond words. His wrist makes a shadow where it shoves under his waistband, and he's not sure it's clear in the photo, but he's already made a wet spot on the front of the checkered fabric.

_Wow, Hajime. Already?_

Hajime slows down. Tobio's right, he shouldn't get so wound up. This isn't serious. It's just a fun, casual thing. Right?

_Abs?_

Hajime takes a long breath before lifting his phone and trying to get a good angle with his hand still stuck in his shorts. From above, it's still stupidly obvious how huge his boner is, how hard he is for this practice-weary Tobio.

Tobio sends another photo, this time down his body at his shorts where he's got a hand on himself through the fabric. _I'm so tired but..._

Hajime smiles.

'Show me,' he types, and yet again, he doesn't wait long.

Another video.

Tobio set the phone back on whatever surface he was propping it up on, and he turns around quickly, face flushed. There's a moment where Hajime spots his erection before he's all-the-way hidden, but only has a moment to focus on that because what happens next thoroughly distracts him: Tobio's breath is a little loud in his small dorm room miles and miles away, and his shoulders hitch up with nerves as he lifts his hands and tucks his thumbs into his waistband, before pushing them over his hips and down his legs, leaving him in only the kneepads. It's not very graceful, but Hajime's breathless anyway, because his ass is godly, muscled and round and very, very grabbable.

He watches it three times, catching the part where Tobio looks over his shoulder and goes red in the face, before the video cuts out, hastily edited.

Tobio's never, ever done this. Never stripped completely naked. Let alone in a video. And it makes Hajime groan a little under his breath.

He wants to reach through the screen, so instead he changes the position of his hand and strokes his dick, hot and slightly slippery from how much he's dribbling precome over his knuckles. 

One-handed typing is tough, but he's had lots of practice.

'Tobio,' he sends. 'So fucking hot.'

Emboldened, Hajime sends a video of his chest, his forearm moving quickly, his huffing breaths.

_I'm really hard already._

'From showing off?'

_Shut up. From you._

'Yeah, well I like when you show off.'

_I like_

_that you like it._

Hajime face heats, more, if that's possible.

_That video is going to kill me._

Hajime slows his hand on his dick, squeezing the base.

'Send me more photos first? Wanna get off before you die on me.'

He gets one, but it's of Tobio's face laying back on his comforter, flipping him off.

'Perfect,' Hajime sends, and means it.

There's a pause for a long few moments, and Hajime closes his eyes, thinking about what it would be like if they lived only minutes, instead of hundreds of miles, away.

His phone vibrates, and there's another video.

"Don't hate me," Tobio's voice grinds out on a breath, and the camera tilts precariously before spanning slowly down his gorgeous abs again, and then to his lap.

His dick, hard and pink and long, slides out from under his straining, curled fingers between his long, splayed legs still marked up from his volleyball gear. It makes Hajime's whole body clench, trying not to come immediately.

He's so fucking keyed up tonight, and it's all for Tobio.

The video ends there, just one slow stroke with Tobio's breath hitching on the tiniest, worried whine, before the message screen reappears with Tobio's new text.

_Too far?_

'No, no. No,' Hajime types out, followed by, 'I'm gonna fucking come with this video on loop, Tobio.'

_Hajime, god._

Hajime hisses, wondering what his name sounds like in Tobio's mouth, and that's when he decides.

Send now and freak out later, send now and freak out later, send now and freak out later.

Lifting his phone as high as he can he starts a video and angles it so part of his face is visible, along with the top of his shorts. He shifts, spreads his legs, and pulls his hand from his boxers to shove the waistband down under his balls, and then he grunts as he gets his hand on himself again, cool air sensitive on his dick.

"Fuck," he whispers, back arching a little as he thinks about Tobio in his own dorm room slowly touching himself as he thinks about Hajime. "Ah, fuck..."

His mouth hangs open, shiny wet, but he can't help the small sounds that escape his throat. He thinks about Tobio, sweating, Tobio bent over with that perfect ass marked red from slamming into it, thinks about him reaching for his dick as Hajime fucks into him, thinks about him saying his name again and again and again —

"Tobio, shit — " he moans out, and spatters come all over his twitching stomach.

The video takes a tiny bit of time to send, and then it's time to freak out. He just lays there, though, chest heaving, hand clutching his phone at his side, until it buzzes.

_Hajime_

That's all it says.

'How was that for too far?' he asks, trying to infuse their old casualness back into things. It doesn't work.

He knows he moaned Tobio's name. He definitely knows Tobio knows, because he recorded it. And sent it to him.

_That was_

_Hell, you made me come really hard._

Hajime lets out a huge breath of relief. 'Yeah?'

A picture pops up, and where any other night Hajime would be on edge zooming in on shadows and squinting to catch beads of sweat and flipping through photos to see just how turned on Tobio was getting, there's nothing left to interpret.

Tobio looks wrecked, one arm resting bent over his head as his body blotches with a blush. His whole torso is on display, the top of one thigh visible as he's spread out over the comforter, and there's a thorough splash of clear-white over his belly around his dick, still long and flushed but softening. He's completely done in.

Another picture follows, but with Tobio's face again, and he's smiling a little, or trying to smile — halfway there, chewing on his lip with his eyes looking up, sleepy.

Hajime wants to kiss him so fucking bad.

_Hajime?_

'Wow,' he says eventually. 'Sorry, I've been staring forever.'

Tobio sends a smiley face.

'You're really good-looking, Tobio. You're gorgeous.'

Another smiley face.

'Would now be a good time to tell you I want to kiss you like, really fucking bad?'

_Would now be a good time time to tell you I'll be in your city for a tournament in two weeks?_

Eventually, the giddiness wears off, and Hajime makes it to the shower to rinse before crawling into bed, their conversation having devolved into embarrassed compliments and a few more heated confessions before petering off for the night, but when he curls under the covers later there's a new video for him according to his phone.

Tobio is back on his bed, hair damp not from sweat, but from a shower, face half-hidden in a pillow. The image wobbles a little, but Tobio tries another smile, something sweet almost like when he was young — when they met as kids — and he looks up at his phone.

"I always wanna kiss you," he confesses and, face reddening suddenly he adds, "Night, Hajime."

The video ends immediately, but Hajime turns over in his bed and watches it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/byesweetheart_), [Tumblr](http://byesweetheart.tumblr.com/) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/byesweetheart)!


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